


A Night Beclouded

by katajainen



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: After Pelennor Fields, Canon-appropriate angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Ficlet, M/M, Minas Tirith, Nightmares, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-30 08:57:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8526958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katajainen/pseuds/katajainen
Summary: Night falls after the fighting is done on the Pelennor Fields. For those left alive, it should be an hour for respite, for catching one's breath.But there is the kind of darkness that seeps under one's skin, the kind not born of mere absence of sunlight, and this is not a time to be alone.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A ficlet I originally posted at [my tumblr](http://katajainen.tumblr.com). Sort of not-quite-there-yet gigolas.

Gimli was on his feet with steel in his hand before he was fully awake. He blinked groggily in the heavy darkness as he considered his surroundings. Surely no sign of impending danger had roused him here, in this good house of solid stone high in the seventh circle of the White City. 

There was a dim sliver of light between the closed shutters, but that hardly spoke in favour of either an early hour or late, these being the days under the Shadow. A twilight could easily be full daybreak.

But from the dull aching weariness of his limbs Gimli knew it could not be more than scarce hours since he had at last found his rest the night after the battle.

In the next room, someone cried out.

Cold damp air blew into Gimli's face when he swung open the door. In this room, the shutters were thrown wide and the windows stood open into the night, the sky behind wind-driven streamers of cloud the dull grey of flint. But the meagre light was plenty enough for Gimli's eyes, even if he didn’t need to see much to understand.

Battle-dreams.

Legolas screamed again, called out words that Gimli knew not the meaning, only that they were rendered sharp-edged and raw by whatever horror the elf's sleeping mind had conjured for him. The fine bedclothes were wrapped in a tangle around his straining limbs; his face glowed with a sheen of sweat and his hair stood out dark where it was plastered to his skin.

His eyes stared wide open and sightless, but never before had the strangeness of elven sleep so unnerved Gimli.

'Legolas,' he called before going any further. 'Legolas, it is I, Gimli.'

He knew that he should leave him be. It was not done to rouse one from their dark dreams; better to let them run their course. Gimli knew this but could not bear to do it. In the very least Legolas might know he was not alone. Gimli let the door close behind him and walked into the room, all the while speaking softly. It would have been a matter of a step or two to be close enough to touch Legolas, when the elf came at him with a wordless cry.

They went down in a tangle of limbs and sheets on the cold stone floor. Legolas had the advantage of reach, but Gimli knew he had the brute strength, for what little good it did to him. He would not harm his friend intentionally, while Legolas held no such qualms over whatever beast or foe his dream had set him against.

Gimli kept on speaking when they grappled and rolled and tussled, repeating Legolas' name over and over in an effort to pull him free and into the waking world. But his eyes, luminous when conscious, remained fixed and dull.

The fight ended as abrupt as it had started. Gimli was flat on his back, pinned down by Legolas' bare knee pressing hard against his sternum, strong long-fingered hands going for his throat. He gripped the elf by the wrists and braced his legs for a throw when Legolas blinked, once, twice, and stayed still, eyes darting this way and that.

'Gimli?'

It occurred to Gimli that there was too little light for the elf to see him clearly. ‘I’m here,’ he said. And for the life of him, he could not have told why a simple ‘Yes’ would not do.

‘Here? You… you live.’

‘Aye. But would live in more comfort if an elf would let me breathe.’

As if only now realizing their positions, Legolas scrambled up as inelegantly as Gimli had ever seen him move. ‘My apologies.’

Gimli clasped the offered hand and pulled himself from the floor. ‘You were lost in battle-dreams,’ he said. ‘I have only myself to blame.’

‘Dark-dreams,’ replied Legolas, and turned towards the open windows and the heavy, lightless vista beyond. He stood out as a deeper shadow against the darksome sky, his hunched shoulders and bowed head outlined sharp in silhouette. ‘Black and born of the shadow,’ he said quietly, ‘but seemingly as true as any living memory. I… I am glad to be awake, even if it shames me that I sought to harm you.’

‘Bah, you could not have dealt me any real injury, had you tried.’ Gimli rubbed absently at his chest. ‘Though you are heavier than I thought. And I _will_ take insult if you apologize again; you were not here and I was not me.’

Legolas sighed. ‘Maybe so.’

His shoulder was smooth under Gimli’s hand, sweat rapidly cooling off the bare skin. 

‘Come. There are still hours left for rest before the dawn.’ Gently, step by slow step, he guided Legolas back to bed. He let himself be lead unprotesting and lay still when Gimli gathered the discarded sheets and blankets from the floor. His eyes were wide, dark hollows in his pale face, and his expression spoke of greater weariness than Gimli had yet to see him suffer.

‘Would you speak of it? Tell me your dream?’

‘No,’ Legolas said. ‘I better not. Least said, soonest forgotten. But–’ he hesitated, and turned to face Gimli. ‘I would ask you a favour.’

‘Then ask.’

'Stay,' Legolas said. 'After all this time spent traveling in company – I find I miss hearing someone else's breath besides my own... Please?'

'Hah! That you would say you miss hearing me snore – never thought I would see the day!' Gimli shook his head. 'Very well; 'tis fine they have made these things wide enough, if on the tall side. Make room.'

The bed truly had breadth for both of them lie comfortably but not touching. Gimli closed his eyes and listened to the wind and the noises of the night from the city below. He wondered briefly if there were anyone yet left trapped in the houses destroyed by the siege engines. He hoped not, but still thought of work crews digging through the rubble by torchlight, and felt a stab of guilt over this soft bed, over these clean sheets. Over this company.

‘I think we’ll have to settle that score one day, my friend,’ said Legolas after some time.

‘Score?’

‘I doubt if you would be able to best me in a fight.’

Gimli snorted. ‘I’ll give you a match if you will, one day, but do not complain if you injure more than your pride.’ He yawned. ‘But quiet now. It is not yet dawn.’

Legolas said nothing for a long while, and if not for the sound of his breathing, Gimli would have thought him asleep. It soon grew warm under the blankets, warmer than the windows open into the cold night would have warranted. A weak puff of wind blew against Gimli’s face and he opened his eyes to see the clouds beginning to thin outside. He let his eyes fall shut again and heard, just on the cusp of sleep, a low voice saying quietly ‘Thank you.’

It was barely past the break of day when he woke again, the sunlight yet pale and grey. They had both shifted in their sleep, and Legolas’ head was resting against his shoulder, his breath warm against Gimli’s neck, his arm a solid weight over his chest. He was sound asleep, and Gimli let him wake as he willed.


End file.
